


Spilled Over

by Froggyflan



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Just all fluff, M/M, MERMAID BLOWJOB WHOO WHOO, Masturbation, mermaid au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-08-08 06:04:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7746010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froggyflan/pseuds/Froggyflan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A compilation of one shots for the mermaid AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to kophing.tumblr.com and fingurken.tumblr.com for thinking up this adorable mermaid AU. I can't handle AUs I am such trash.

He sees it on the TV.

Black sludge blankets the water like it’s taking over the whole ocean. The hull of a ship is ruptured, and it just keeps billowing out like it’ll never stop. Waves colored like a rainbow lap at the shore, and the foam is as brown as chocolate.

He groans, stands up, and grabs his keys. Mako wouldn’t say he was doing this out of the kindness of his heart. It was more like obligation.

The drive there is nice, at least. He likes the way the air gets crisper the closer he gets to the water, can smell the salt. It’s a little humid today, and his fingers slide on his handlebars as he revs the engine. The chopper roars down the street.

He expects the crowds, expects the traffic. He sees the news channels with their big white vans stuck in bumper to bumper gridlock. He veers around them. He’s too big to go in between the cars, but he sure can ride the shoulder like a real criminal. The closer he gets to the pier, the denser it gets, and he sees the clean up crew setting up in a hurry, yellow hazmat and plenty of buckets and soap.

Mako doesn’t need to worry about getting through all that chaos. He heads to the south, away from the main attraction, following small neighborhood roads until he reaches his stomping grounds, a dirty cove and a rickety dock that was someone’s backyard secret for years, long since abandoned. It’s too close to the city, too far from the beach for anyone to care about it. Not a good place to fish, with all the noise and pollution, but it’s a great place to set up an illegal poaching thoroughfare. His boat is tied to the dock safely, nodding with the waves of the sea, hidden by a large camouflage tarp.

He parks his bike on the last bit of asphalt, right before it all turns into sand, and waddles his way through it. The sand is coarse, but he still sinks right in, kicking it up with every heavy step. As he nears the water, it’s compact and wet, easier to stand in.

It’s quiet.

He looks around, and it’s just washed up trash and smelly seaweed. The oil spill can be seen easily over the rise of the rocks, little boats surrounding the torn ship. He hears honking from the nearby traffic jam, hears the whoosh of wind trapped by bridges and tall buildings in the distance.

“Where are you?” he asks, and it’s gruff and warning. He doesn’t have time to play here all day. He’s sure he has better things to do, anyway. “Come out.”

No response. He walks onto the dock, feels it whine and shift to accommodate his size. He looks down into the murky water and it ripples with colors, pinks and greens, slick and dirty. Just touching it would leave his fingers slimy.

The crash of water against the rotted wooden planks is calming, fat drops clicking back into the water. He inhales and the smell of the ocean is nauseating and familiar.

Mako waits a few more moments, and there’s a sound beneath the dock, like a violent cough being muffled, holding it in. It’s a heaving sound, like he’s choking on too much air.

He turns around, and he sees something shifting in between the boards, yellow and black.

“Come out,” he says again, and it’s lower this time, still just as miffed. The wiggling thing disappears, and the sound is now garbled under the water.

He lets out a loud groan and he hopes the stupid thing hears him. “Don’t fuck with me.”

Bubbling and coughing is the only response.

“Fine,” is barked out, and he’s getting on his hands and knees, reminding himself that he will never let the disgusting creature forget about this. He leans over the edge until his head is upside down, making sure his ponytail doesn’t touch the water.

Big orange eyes lock onto his, wide and panicked. Mako is immediately aware of the dark oil oozing in and out of the gills on the sides of his neck, hears the rasping breaths escaping that useless mouth full of triangle teeth. The black covers his whole face, a few patches of blond hair left untouched.

“What did you do?” comes out harshly, and the creature tightens up, dirty hands grasping at his neck fruitlessly. The gasps are frequent and he’s probably trying to answer, but he can’t. There’s desperation written in the tears pooling in his eyes.

“Come here,” he murmurs, reaching a hand over the side and curling his fingers toward him. The monster shakes his head and dunks himself underwater, weak bubbles popping to the surface. Mako clenches the fingers into a fist. “Get the hell over here.”

The bubbles pop faster, and he’s two seconds from flattening the dock on top of him.

“I swear to God,” he hisses, and like hell is he getting in this disgusting water to grab him. Like hell.

But he finds himself turning about and shoving a foot down into the shallow waters with a plunk, followed by the rest of him. The creature is immediately up in arms, popping back up with teeth gnashing. He knows he will not be treated kindly now.

Mako grabs him by the arm before he can shoot out into the open water. He wouldn’t get far anyway, not with that torn up tail of his. It feels slimy in his hand, slippery, and it’s just enough for the fish to yank its way out and make a break for it. Mako is quick to grab him again, tighter this time.

“Cut it out!”

He’s thrashing about, splashing nasty water all over Mako, and the patience that was barely there is all but gone. As he pulls him out into the open, the boy decides running won’t work, might as well fight it. He sinks those razor sharp teeth into Mako’s fist, and if he were a weaker man, he would have cried out and let go. The normal Mako would have punched the shit out of him. It’s not turning out to be a normal Mako day.

He frowns with tight lips as the pain blossoms quickly in his hand. He’d been bitten by his stock before, a hefty tiger shark. He’s got some beautiful scars on his forearm to prove it. This wasn’t anything to worry about, and by the look in those fiery amber eyes, he knows it too. The creature pulls his mouth away, fangs lifting out of his skin, letting the blood run quickly to mix in the dark water. He’s made a mistake.

Mako pulls him close with a quick jerk, and he’s slimy and smells terrible. The hacking and gasping continues but he knows he’s lost, coming along without so much as a wiggle. He clings to the big man as he walks up onto the sand, crushed against his chest. Mako feels like he’s weighed down with bricks, his heavy boots even heavier now that they were filled with water. His clothes cling to him uncomfortably, and there’s seaweed caught against his arm, tickling his skin. The fish is getting oil all over his hands and chest, and he’s going to have to throw this shirt out.

The scales in his hands are ripped and torn apart, the yellow sheen interrupted by raw pink spots here and there, scars, holes, big chunks missing. He remembers the thing telling him how he got each one, showing off his scars if Mako would show his. The creature had admired them so tenderly.

When he finally trudges through the sand to the bike, he rustles about in his saddle bags. He’d brought a towel knowing this was going to get messy, but he didn’t think he’d be the one covered in slime. He wipes it along the monster’s face, and he receives a horrible hissing sound for his troubles, pointed fingers trying to tug it away. When he takes it back, the black has smeared away just barely, and he brings it down to his neck to wipe away at the gills.

The sound that comes from him is something between a sob and a growl, and he gasps weakly, dry. If he could barely breathe in the water, the air wasn’t helping much.

“Hold on,” he says quietly, and he’s swinging his leg over his bike and setting him down between his legs. He throws the towel over his unruly hair and leans back to grab a water bottle from the bag, uncapping it and handing it over. “Here.”

The creature takes hold of it, confused, and nearly drops it from his slippery webby hands. It crinkles in his tight grip, and when the water spills a bit, he get the idea. He immediately tilts his head back and splashes it into his face, getting cold water over the both of them and the bike.

“Fucking Christ,” Mako snaps, but the creature lets out a shrieking gasp of relief and grasps at the handlebars of the bike. He looks over his shoulder at Mako, and coughs wetly.

“Holy shit,” he finally says, and it’s still raspy, still labored. He coughs like he’s going to throw up.

“You’re disgusting” Mako says absently, starting up the bike with a fierce rumble. He closes his thick legs around the bike, trapping the big orange tail against his knee, making sure it’s hidden, and they’re tearing down the road.. The fish sits pretty between his thighs, one hand on the handlebars and the other still splashing water into his face with an errant choking sound. The towel whips around his head in the wind, and he tries to keep in on by hunching his shoulders up.

It must be difficult trying to keep hidden while constantly having to wet his gills, and also make sure he doesn’t go flying off while driving 85 miles an hour. Mako listens over the loud purr of the engine, hears the pathetic whining. Before he knows it, he’s taking a hand off the handlebars and pressing it onto a cold slimy stomach.

“Don’t worry,” he says, but he can’t possibly hear it over the wind yelling in their ears. The monster probably says something too, but it’s lost, and he pulls the towel down farther, sprays the water onto his face and neck. Much easier with two hands.

The drive that was so nice before is ruined by anxiety and anger, maybe fear. He’s thankful there’s no traffic in this direction, or he’d be livid. The wind in his face is cold, and his wet clothes make it painfully frigid. The stomach against his palm is starting to feel dry, can feel the quick terrified thumping of his heart. It heaves and squirms.

He grinds his teeth instead of letting them chatter. Water keeps spilling onto his chest from the water bottle, renewing the icy tingle on his skin. The bite on his hand is starting to sting smartly, already looking pink with infection. Gross little devil. He moves his thumb against the concave ridge between the monster’s ribs and stomach, and he swears he can feel a purr bubbling beneath his fingers.

He hits a pothole while he’s distracted, and the water bottle jumps out of the fish’s hand and smacks Mako in the face. The creature may be choking to death, but he takes the time to let out a loud annoying laugh that sends him into another fit of coughing. Mako contemplates throwing him off the bike.

When they get to Mako’s home, a tiny broken down thing, the fish is mesmerized by the sight of it. It’s not like he’s ever seen a house before, or anything in it. He wiggles about and wraps his shredded oily arms around his shoulders, breathing gently, carefully, taking in the new scenery.

Mako lifts them up and off the bike, and as he walks up the steps to the door, the creature is jerking his head around trying to look at everything at once. Mako fumbles for his keys, fingers slick with blood and sludge, and he eventually gets the door open.

He thinks the fish wants to gasp at the sight of it, but all that comes out is a pained wheeze. The walls of his living room are lined with jawbones, teeth, trophies. Great big hollow bones mounted over his modest and well worn furniture. The thing nestled against his chest tenses up, squirms and lets out a horrible dry laugh.

Mako’s first stop is the bathroom. He muscles the door open and throws the creature into the bathtub, who bumps his elbows against the porcelain painfully and nearly bashes his head in too. He doesn’t seem preoccupied by the pain, probably because he’s writhing and suffocating, tail flapping about and knocking over shampoo bottles. Mako immediately turns on the shower, and there’s that horrible shrill gasp again, like he’s never breathed a day in his life. The water rains down all over him, and he’s heaving in his breaths so fast Mako’s sure he’s going to pass out.

The oil is still gunking up his gills, but he’s breathing in as deep as he can, and that’s a marked improvement. Mako sits down on the toilet lid and grabs one of the shampoo bottles from the bottom of the tub. He pours some into the palm of his hand and leans forward.

“Hey,” he says, and the thing moves toward him, lifting up his head and putting it into Mako’s outstretched hands. The soap cuts through the grime like magic, and he rubs it into his tangled hair, over his face, making his eyes clench tight and his mouth open in a grimace.

“Stings,” he hisses, squirming again. His voice is starting to come back, unfortunately.

“Deal with it,” he answers, and begins rubbing it down over his neck toward his gills. The flaps of skin are thin, moving with each quick breath, vibrating. No, there’s that purr again. He moves his thick fingers between each flap, careful not to go too deep, and they come back black as night. He adds more soap and keeps massaging the skin until it's clean as a whistle.

The creature is putty in his hand, and he’s staring at Mako with those big stupid eyes while he works. The palm that is holding his face is still red with blood, and the creature kisses the bite apologetically.

“I didn’t mean to,” it says, and it’s sincere and true, despite that big goofy grin glued to his face. He digs into the gills, earning him a yelp, before he’s pulling both his hands away.

“Punk,” he says, and the grin just gets wider. He plugs the tub and lets the water fill, adding a generous amount of soap to make it bubble up white.

“Just like home,” the creature says, patting the foam gingerly, “Does that mean I live here now?”

Mako cringes at the idea, but what else was he going to do, drive the thing back and dump him? He hadn’t really thought this through. Just did what he needed to do.

“I like it,” he says, folding his arms over the edge of the tub, looking Mako dead in the eye. “I like you.”

“Please,” Mako scoffs and smirks before he can stop himself, and the creature copies the expression. “I’m selling you to the highest bidder.”

His head lolls on his arms, tilting back and forth, and that smarmy look has already been memorized. Mako is regretting everything already. “Yeah alright, tough guy.”

Mako groans. God, what a nightmare. The situation is settling, and he’s starting to feel tired in his wet clothes and dirty skin. He stands to go get changed, to treat his wound, but a slimy little hand is grabbing his and tugging it close. He watches the monster kiss the bite again, soft slippery lips clearing away dried blood. Orange eyes bear into him like he’s the only thing in this world. He refuses to admit how endearing it is.

“Thank you, Mako.”

No. He would never admit anything.


	2. Siren's Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know mermaids and sirens aren't the same. Shhh let me have this haha.

Mako tries to think of a word to describe the sound.

It’s otherworldly, that’s for sure. Strange and doing something to his head, like a tickle in his brain. It feels like someone is nagging at him, an annoying itch in his whole body. The sound drifts in and out over the hum of the ocean, gently plucking needles at his senses. He hates it. After a few more minutes, he decides on a good word.

Squawking.

“Stop,” he tells him, putting a finger into his ear and digging. Maybe he hadn’t cleaned them out properly. He rotates his jaw to make them pop, like he’s high in the mountains.

“Stop what?” There’s an innocent look in those eyes peering up at him from below the dock, and he sneers.

“Stop making that noise.”

“Dunno what ya on about, mate.”

The toothy grin tells another story, cheeky, teasing. His long slimy fingers tap the puddles gathering in the rotted wood planks. He’s fidgeting; not a good liar. He obviously hasn’t gotten the hang of it. Probably hasn’t met enough people to lie to.

Mako eyes him dangerously and it makes the creature flinch, but he still stays close. He’s barely containing his excitement, and he can see the big orange fin wiggling underneath the surface of the water. The thing wants to talk, always wants to talk, but he’s holding back just barely.

He sets his reel again, checks his gear, counts his lures. It’s a dull day. The sky is grey and patchy with clouds, not enough for a storm, but maybe for a good minutes worth of rain. He can’t take his boat out until the coast is clear, literally. It’s nearly evening, and there are still some beach goers in the distance who could easily spot him if he set out now. He checks his phone for the time. Why did he get here so early? He had better things to do than muck around this godforsaken peer and be bothered by this drowned rat. He’s being watched curiously as he works, double checks, cleans.

And then it starts again.

It begins deep and rumbling, like shifting in an earthquake. It raises and falls in pitch like it’s not sure what it’s doing. The feeling blooms in his chest again, hushing his thoughts and pulling out something in his brain like it’s stealing treasures, memories. Words erupts loudly in his ears like a sudden wake up call, asking him things. The tone of the voice is low, not at all beautiful or enticing, but he falls for it regardless, lets it bathe over him. It’s asking him what he wants, what he desires. What do you want most in this world?

He slams his fist down onto the dock, and the sound stops.

“What did I say?”

The fish looks sheepish with his startled face and twitchy hands. His lips are pursed, and the gills on his neck flare up wide. Caught.

“It’s not working,” he says gently, like he’s telling himself that. Mako almost doesn’t want to ask. It’ll just make the thing want to talk more, get him all excited for a conversation Mako wasn’t willing to have right now. He just wants to prepare for his trip in peace. But his head is still fuzzy with that sound, a terrible hideous sound now that he thinks about it, so he might as well know. He lets out a long winded sigh.

“What’s not working?”

A big yellow grin. “I’m singing.”

“Sounds like shit,” he says, and the smile turns into a frown right quick. The monster pulls his hands from the dock and plunks them down into the water angrily. That ruined tail flips vigorously in the tide like an angry cat, and there’s a familiar clicking noise coming from his mouth. Teeth. Mako doesn’t want to bother with this hissy fit.

It’s quiet, but if he knew anything about this leech he’d somehow befriended, it wouldn’t last more than a minute. The thing doesn’t have an ounce of patience in him, and Mako is learning that he has far too much. When the blond hair dips below the surface, the tantrum bubbles start, and he does well in ignoring it. He busies himself with unhooking the tarp on his boat and loading it with coolers and crates.

The boat lurches with his weight, bobbing in the unsettling waves. The rocking is unpredictable, the wobble under his feet making his body jolt on instinct. The floor creaks under him. Stepping onto a boat is always unnerving no matter how many times he does it.

The blond head pops up over the stern and scaly hands grasp the guard rails, hauling himself up. When his hair is wet, it droops into his face in clumps, and he looks like a wet dog. Impossible orange eyes glare at him.

“Mate, just tell me what you want.”

Mako really really regrets asking, regrets getting to this point. Why did he do this to himself? He turns toward the fish, who’s trying to clamber into his boat, splashing and clawing. He’s getting water all over the deck, and it’s not like he can stay above water for long. Mako takes a step forward and starts nudging him off with his boot, but the creature hisses and just moves away from it.

“What I want is for you to quit bothering me,” Mako says, and maybe there’s too much venom in it, because he looks like he’s been slapped in the face. His lips turn up in a movie monster snarl.

“You’re lying. I know you are.” The fish wiggles around the propeller, starting to climb up on the other side. Mako is right there to shove him off again.

“How do you know I’m lying?” That hush whispered sound is still buried in his brain. “Were you reading my mind?”

The monster doesn’t answer, just shimmies with the guard rail away from Mako and lifts himself up over the edge. He doesn’t know why he keeps trying. Mako is just going to push him off every time.

“Were you rooting around in there? Find anything interesting?” His boot kicks at a dirty finned arm, making it lose its grip. The monster falls back into the water with an exasperated growl.

“Just that you’re an asshole!” The fish barks, fingers clenching against the metal hull so hard that it squeaks. Mako snorts a laugh despite knowing it’ll just encourage him.

“That ain’t a secret,” and it isn’t, never was. He’s starting to look desperate, and it’s odd how that stirs something in Mako’s gut. With a loud splash, the creature finally boards the vessel, landing hard on the deck and wheezing on impact. The gills flare angrily, already starting to look choked. He does not relent, not with those fierce eyes trained on him. Vicious, trapped, scared.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Don’t need to kill yourself for an answer,” Mako gives, and with a huff he’s already scooping a cooler into the green stinking water and hefting it back up. He turns back to the fish, whose thin chest is heaving hard, and grabs him by the waist with an annoyed huff. He hates touching him. He’s cold and slimy, and even though Mako handles fish for a living, he always feels like he needs to wash his hands immediately. The thing squirms and gasps as he moves him to the cooler, pushing him into it. It’s a very tight squeeze, and he can only fit his shoulders and torso, the huge scaly tail flopped over the side . It looks uncomfortable and hilarious. He’s forced to keep his arms on his belly, and his head rests against the edge of the cooler. He really just needs his neck submerged. Mako watches bubbles escape the wavy gills.

“Then answer,” the monster says, and he’s clearly upset. Mako is starting to get frustrated with the tenacity of his unwanted companion. Why was it so important? He yanks the cooler closer, making the water slosh into the boy’s face, who sputters in surprise.

“I want to catch big fish and make a lot of money. That wasn’t obvious?”

The thing is silent, and there's a pained expression on his face that is definitely not affecting Mako in any way. The fingers pressed to his belly twitch and curl into webbed fists, and he's starting to squeeze himself tighter into the cooler, like he's trying to hide.

Mako wants to push him back into the sea, just pick up the cooler and toss it, hopes it sinks to the bottom. He wants to be done with the stupid questions and the stalking and the daunting concern that's always pushing its way into his bloodstream. Mako yanks at the cooler again, and the monster tenses.

“What?” What's wrong, he means. He's not used to saying things for the sake of other people. He doesn't inquire or encourage or spark conversations. Talking to Mako requires nerve. Nobody wants to brawl with this old shark, especially not with words. Except this little annoying fish that keeps finding it's way into his company. He looks away from Mako and his body language exudes resignation. 

“They say if my song doesn't work, I'll die.” The tail smacks the deck uselessly. “Ain't ever happened before. Dunno if it's true.”

The gentle murmur of waves hitting the sand is the only thing in his ears, and the dripping pop as they collide with the wooden pillars beneath the dock. The boat rocks in the unruly movement coming from the clouds, from the breeze. It's going to rain soon.

Mako remembers something about beautiful women and singing and luring sailors to shipwreck. One of those ancient stories with heroes and mythical beasts that were a staple when he was in school. Pretty voices promising the world, and men dumb enough to believe them. He didn't imagine it would be like this. 

The creature doesn’t want to look at him now, which is the strangest thing he’s ever seen, and he's standing next to a merman. Those piercing eyes are always on him, always following, memorizing, pantomiming. Now it's like he's not even there. Gills perk up in the green sludgy water as he breathes deep. He’s dejected. “I wanted to know if ya wanted me.”

Mako feels his throat tickle and become tight, a growl forcing its way up like vomit. There’s something stuck in there, and it’s making him uneasy and sick. This wasn’t something he’d prepared for. The water beneath the boat kicks up and lifts them higher. At Mako’s silence, he hums, and it makes Mako’s insides churn like the waves under them.

“Ya don’t like me very much,” the monster says, and his voice is unnaturally soft, “It’s alright.”

Mako is trying to think. His teeth are grinding and his hands aren’t sure what to do, but he still won’t look at him, sad eyes locked on the dark wild sea, his home. This is all sorts of messed up, and it’s not like it’s his fault the creature failed to woo him. It wasn’t his fault.

He decides to yank at the cooler one last time, and the splash finally brings the fish’s attention to him, and it’s nothing but hurt and anger and fear, melded together into a fierce stare that stings his skin like acid. His gills are flaring up again, and he looks absolutely ready to jump out of this bucket and never come back. Mako sits down slowly, like he’s trying to touch a frightened animal, and he is. He exhales sharply through his nose, and it’s drowned out in the pitter patter of the rain starting to come in.

“Do it.”

The fish is taken aback, big bushy eyebrows flying up his forehead for a moment before slamming right back down. Skeptical. “Ya just going to yell at me again.”

“Well, do you want to die or not?”

He didn’t mean it like that. He’s terrible with sincerity, always has been. But the creature tilts his head back suspiciously, testing him for weakness. He doesn’t find any, but Mako knows there’s plenty there. He stares him right in the eye, gills spread out wide, vibrating like a purr, and there’s the sound.

It’s much more solemn than it was before, a sad noise, still very much repulsive, like the cry of decrepit seagull. The rhythm is slow, like an old timey waltz, and stars twinkle and glisten behind his eyes. It pulls him closer, draws him in gently. His brain is wracked, persuaded to open up and reveal his secrets. A voice whispers to him, and the fish isn’t moving his mouth, but his head moves forward, closer. It’s not his voice, not as shrill or loud, low and tantalizing. What do you want most in this world?

Mako wants to hold back for the sake of his own dignity, but his thoughts are being pulled from him without his permission, little strings of memories and desires twisting out his ears. They’re being stolen. It’s confusing and wretched and mesmerizing. What do you want?

A word leaves his mouth, and he can’t wake up from this stupor to stop it. The voice turns into a hushed coo, genuinely happy, excited, lovely. Wonderful words are murmured to him, promises, assurances that he will be treated like a king. All his wishes will be granted, anything he wants, just don’t lie, don’t ever lie to me, please. The sound erupts in breathy gasps and quiet praise, telling him yes, he can have that, he can have that all damn day.

There’s immediately cold slimy hands on his cheeks, pulling him closer until his lips are intercepted. The creature kisses him wet and sloppy, trying to drag him into that tiny cooler so he can steal him away all for himself and never leave. He’s careful with the teeth, makes sure he’s not getting them too close. He plants gentle enamored kisses all over his mouth, his cheeks, his chin, jaw, everywhere. Mako can’t break from the power the song has over him, and he returns the affection desperately. The thing tastes godawful, and he’s going to be sick from it, stuck in bed for a few days from whatever plague is being harbored in that mouth, but he keeps pressing forward, closer, needing more of it like he’s starving.

Webbed hands tug at the collar of his button up and he’s practically on top of him, chest wet from the water in the cooler, and the rain he’s already forgotten about soaks the back of him. It’s cold, it’s all very cold, and maybe that’s the reason he shivers. The creature is still singing to him, coaxing him into it, and it’s like the purr of an engine, the smell of money, the thrill of a big catch, the look of a certain someone, a something. It feels like all of that mixed together and it makes him higher than any drug ever could.

Lips leave him, and he leans in to follow, but they’re turned up in a wet drippy grin. The monster brushes his nose against his, and the drops of water tickle. Annoying amber eyes meet his as the song stops, he’s brought back to earth with a heavy boom, and the world stops spinning just for them. He sucks in air like he’s drowning, and the creature is completely bewitching.

“I’ve caught ya, Mako Rutledge.”

Before he can figure out how to function again, the fish lurches out of the cooler and escapes off the boat with a big splash, water raining from the sky and from his exit. The single orange fin on his tail is the last thing Mako sees, the murky deep swallowing him up, and he does not resurface.

The rain is gentle on his skin, uncomfortable on his clothes. Reality comes back into focus, and all he knows is that his mouth tastes like shit. He swipes his arm across his face, and the slime smears across it.

He’d been played right into his grimy little hands. His mind had been ripped open, messed with. Things he’d wanted to keep secret were taken from him, and that little rat knew all of them. Mako can imagine the look on that stupid face next time sees him, all smiles and wiggling eyebrows. He knew what he wanted, what kept him coming back to this shitty dock day in and day out, and the shame blooms across his face red as blood.

He kicks the cooler off the side of the boat, and it sinks just like he thought it would.


	3. 10,000 Emerald Pools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [Brundle-Bambi](http://brundle-bambi.tumblr.com/) who peer pressured me into writing mermaid porn.
> 
> You OWE ME.

The thing insists on touching him.

Long, webbed fingers always manage to find a way up his pant legs or under his shirt when he’s not paying attention, and he wouldn’t say it startles him, but he definitely doesn’t expect it. The monster grabs and pets and draws him closer, crawling all over him, kissing, hugging, loving. It's terrible. 

Mako hates the way it’s skin (scales?) feels, like raw eggs mixed with engine grease: slimy and drippy and hard to clean. He doesn’t know how the fish gets so disgusting, but it’s probably from hanging around the marina a klick or two south of their little private pier. There’s plenty of oil and trash there. The monster likes to watch the people on their boats, listen to them talk. He says it helps with his English. Mako thinks it’s really only helping him in the slang department.

The thing coos at him from below the dock as Mako sits on the edge, his legs dangling off the side as he fishes. He feels those gross hands tugging on one of his rubber boots until it eventually pops off, and it lands sole first on the water and floats like a tiny boat. The monster cackles, and Mako kicks him in the sternum.

“Put it back.”

The monster eyes him haughtily, and instead tosses the boot onto the dock and proceeds to remove Mako’s sock. Slick hands push back the hem of his jeans to tuck into the white cotton underneath, dragging it down and off his foot. It’s already soaked without having touched the water, and it’s discarded next to the boot as well.

Mako can’t understand for the life of him why he’s so patient these days. He blames it on curiosity, but it could be he’s tired of his reprimands not working anymore. The creature had grown too comfortable with him, and that made Mako just as lax. Maybe Mako was the one letting this happen. Now he’s a pushover, and that’s just another thing to hate about the monster.

Fingers touch his naked foot with genuine interest, tracing the wrinkles on his arch, testing the callousness of his heel. The fish spreads his toes apart, bending them at the knuckle.

“Like a hand,” he says, smiling toothily and pressing his entire hand to the foot, matching it up with Mako’s toes like he was trying to mirror it. He curls his fingers between the toes like they’re holding hands, and that makes Mako feel odd. The starry look in those unnatural eyes makes it even worse.

“Quit it.”

As if he’d issued a challenge, the monster hums and wraps his other hand around Mako’s ankle securely, as if he had the audacity to try and pull Mako into the great deep with him. Mako’s glaring at that smarmy little face, letting him know that there will be no mercy if he follows through. But he just returns Mako’s look, thick wiggling eyebrows and a sharp, tight smile. He’s having fun, and Mako wants nothing more than to string him up, dry him out, and mount him over his goddamn fireplace.

“Don’t you dare.”

He yanks.

Mako’s surprised the creature is strong enough to move him at all, let alone drag his whole body down. He hits the water with a loud plunk, his fishing rod thankfully staying on the dock, and he feels his heart stop for just a second as cold water bites his entire body. The sound of it rushes in his ears as he thrashes, and in his anger he opens his mouth and breathes some of it in, feels it burn up his nose and down his throat. He feels heavy as he pulls himself up, breaking the surface with a roar and splashing about. He gasps and coughs hard, and he knows as soon as he sees that goddamn fish he’s going to break him in two.

The creature is circling him excitedly, moving faster than Mako can catch, and he’s touching Mako’s back and shoulders and every part of him that he can without getting too close to his raging fists. A cold wet mouth kisses the nape of his neck for a fleeting moment, purring and sighing. The weight of the fish pulls him down again, making him take in more of the water.

“You’re dead!” Mako yells, swinging his arms to try and grab hold of the slippery thing, but it’s in it’s own element. Waves lap up to his chin, getting in his mouth and filling his senses with salt. The monster tugs at his pants, pulls at his sleeves, and goads him.

“Ya swim funny,” he says, “Do ya even know how?”

Mako strikes out again and fails, making the creature laugh and grab at him more. He’s playing with Mako, and he’s really not in the mood, probably never will be. He wasn’t going to humor him, wasn’t going to give him what he wanted. He was already out of breath when he fell in, now he’s tired from trying to keep himself from drowning. He pants as he paddles to shore, and the monster follows cautiously, worriedly. It’s as if he knew he’d crossed the line.

“Mako,” he calls, and the nervous jittery giggling turns more and more sour the longer Mako remains silent. He concentrates on moving his cold achy body, finally getting close enough to the shore to get a foothold on the slimy rocks beneath the water. He stands and starts to wade, but his clothes feel like they’re pulling him back down, and he can only move slowly. “Mako!”

If he doesn’t answer, the monster will keep pestering him. If he does answer, the monster will keep talking. There was no way to win. “I’m going home.”

“No!” The fish whines. His grungy ruined tail splashes hard to catch up with Mako as he trudges up the beach. “Mako, come on! Stay a little longer, mate! I’ll be good, I promise!”

Mako keeps walking, his chest finally out of the water, and his shirt is soaked and sticking to him uncomfortably. He wants to yell and punch and hurt, but he’s so sore all of a sudden. He’s too old to be rough housing, definitely too soft in the lungs to be inhaling so much water. He feels it sloshing in his belly, making him nauseous and drowsy. “I need to go get new clothes.”

When he’s nearly all the way out, the waves licking at his legs, the creature barrels into him, knocking him down onto the soft gooey sand. The grainy texture covers everywhere, and the swash pushes more of it back and forth over him. Now he’s cold, wet, and sandy.

The creature clings to his back, and Mako is tempted to just stand up and keep going, dragging him like a petulant child. In a manner too tolerant, he rolls over to face the abomination, who only changes position to press against Mako’s wide stomach. Sharp slimy fingers grip his thick flannel shirt, and scaley yellow hips wedge themselves between his legs.

“Come on,” the thing repeats, still wary of Mako’s big arms ready to beat him senseless, smile caught between anxious and enamored. “Stay with me.”

God, Mako feels sick when he says things like that. His skin ripples with goosebumps as the water recedes from the shore, revealing the creature in all his disgusting glory. He notices the thinnest part of his tail is trapped in a plastic six pack ring, and there’s definitely an old rusty hook tucked deep into what would be his thigh. Mako makes sure his leg isn’t touching it. He’s not interested in getting tetanus.

“You pulled me into the fucking ocean,” Mako tells him, pushing his face away with a hand so large it covers his entire head. “Why should I stay with you?”

Waves blanket the sand again, and Mako has to keep his body firmly planted or else they'll knock him over. He feels the sand go with the water, caving in under him, like the earth is slowly enveloping him.

The fish moves the hand away, plucking at the buttons on his shirt, wiggling his hips to rock against Mako’s. If Mako were less of a man, and if the creature was more of one, he might admit that the motion made his teeth click and his insides go a little warm. He wouldn't, of course, but he lets it happen. It's that awful curiosity of his again.

“I learned a trick,” the monster says, and it's all soft and low and teasing. He slides his finned arms down Mako’s chest gently, tugging his shirttails out of his pants and letting them go with a wet flop. “Saw it on one of those big boats.”

That damn marina. He's going to have to tell him to stop going there. Mako watches the creature slip lower down his body, slimy hands disappearing behind the curve of his belly, and feels him fumbling with his belt. Mako immediately knows what he saw on that godforsaken boat.

He pushes the thing back a little too roughly, and it frowns with bared yellow teeth. Suddenly this is too real, not just annoying flirting and little unwarranted kisses anymore. This is the turning point, and Mako isn't sure he signed up for it.

“You don't know what you're doing,” Mako murmurs, and it's barely louder than the crashing of the waves. He can't even think of a way to explain why it's wrong. It's not wrong to the creature, he supposes. He doesn't understand social norms or etiquette or what it is to be a human. He doesn't know how humans work, especially down there. Mako starts to wonder how mermaids even do this sort of thing. Do they feel pleasure like humans, or is it just procreation? And how would a human even do it with a mermaid anyway? It's not like it has noticeable genitals. He's looking way too far into this, and it makes his skin tingle and his lips turn up in disgust.

“Just lemme do it,” the monster huffs, ducking away from Mako’s hand to get back to work. Mako really wants to push him away again, but he's too caught up in the way the fish is kneading at his crotch experimentally. Mako hasn't been with someone in a long time, and just the idea of having a hand other than his own down there makes his brain a little haywire.

The creature examines the button and zipper on his jeans for a moment before prodding and popping it all open. He tugs on the elastic of his underwear, and those pointed slimy fingers tuck into the waistband and start to slide them down. “So many clothes.”

The swash pushes up the shore again, and the cold hits Mako a little too hard now that his cock was free. The monster disappears beneath it, but Mako definitely feels the hand suddenly gripping him, and he’s embarrassed at the sound he makes. 

Slick. Soft and curious and strange. The slimy disgusting feeling of his hands is suddenly very, very nice, like he's bathed in lube and way too enthusiastic. The sharp nails are carefully held away from the shaft, and the webbing is bunched up between the fingers to create an oddly satisfying ridged texture.

He's surprised he's hard at all, given the temperature, but the ministrations are far too enjoyable for his sad, lonesome libido. He shifts his hips in the sand, and as the water pulls back, he sees the fish eyeing his cock with absolute admiration. 

“It's nice,” he says, and his look betrays him. He's stricken with it, by the way he leans up close and moves it gently in his grasp. He tilts his head this way and that to get a better view of it, and Mako might admit to himself he finds it cute. “I like it.”

“Thanks,” Mako answers, and damn that was far too playful. The monster looks up at him and gives him a wide grin that takes over his whole face. He squeezes the cock in his hand tightly and Mako can't help it-- he groans.

“Did that hurt? Sorry.”

Mako wonders if he can keep his own stupid mouth shut. He feels his face getting hot and his teeth grind together. “No, it’s fine.”

The creature looks skeptical, but continues a little more reserved, like he’s afraid to do it wrong. He moves his hand up and down, and fuck that’s nice. The cock twitches and pulses, and the monster watches closely how it seems to move on its own, wanting more. Mako bites his lip as the hand pets him wetly, perfectly, even, if he was brave enough to think it. It’s smooth and velvety, and it’s so easy to ignore the sand and the rushing water for that feeling. The speed remains slow and drawn out, as the fish is so interested in the reactions, in the way Mako looks. He hasn’t stopped staring at the fat red head of his dick. Even when the waves hit them again, Mako knows he’s staring even underwater.

When the water recedes, Mako sees the thing inching forward, his face getting dangerously close to it, opening his mouth and drawing it in. Fear grips him harder than the hand around his cock and he smashes the palm of his hand into the creature's face.

“No, no no no,” Mako forces out through the thickness in his throat. “No. Absolutely not.”

Mako feels words muffled into his palm, and the monster pushes it away with his free hand, the other still wrapped tightly around him. His plush eyebrows are drawn together and his mouth is turned up in a snarl.

“Why not? The humans on the boat did it! They were having a right good time!”

“Teeth,” Mako warns, and the fish seems to contemplate this, moving his tongue around in his mouth, feeling them like he didn’t already know how sharp they were. He seems to be thinking hard on what to do, and realizes he does well when he distracts Mako with a turn of his wrist and a pump of his fist. Mako hates the way his legs spread wider and his skin trembles.

“I can do it,” the thing whispers longingly, as if Mako is questioning his ability to please him. He seems insulted, at least, all darting eyes and a pondering frown. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

Mako opens his mouth to repeat himself more sternly, but the monster already has his open too, tongue held flat over the bottom row of teeth, and the head of his erection is pressed against it firmly.

Fuck. Mako reaches out to grip the creature by its wet floppy hair, ready to rip him off at the smallest hint of teeth. His mouth is hot and just as wet as his hand, the bulbous head rubbing back and forth over his tongue as he strokes him gently. He opens his mouth wider, lets more in, and the underside of his cock is cradled in the curve of his tongue affectionately.

It can’t be comfortable for him. His jaw shivers now and again with the effort to keep his mouth open in just the right way. If he closes it even slightly, the teeth will come down like a guillotine, and Mako is both terrified and deeply aroused by that. It’s risky and too dangerous, but that godforsaken mouth is working wonders on his mind, just like always. He feels his blood quicken in his veins and the coil in his belly go rigid.

The tongue rolls up against his cock just like the waves that keep bothering him. When the water hits him, it’s a cold shockwave that contrasts with the hot, loving mouth and feels like a slap in the face. Mako moans quietly when the fish disappears under the surface. He doesn’t want him to hear how good he’s feeling, what he’s doing to him. He’d never hear the end of it.

The monster tongues him underwater, and when the swash pulls back, Mako can’t help but admire the way he looks. Fond orange eyes bear into him as he jacks Mako off, tongue caressing the tip of the cock, coaxing him further into his deadly little mouth like he wants to swallow him whole but can’t. His wet hair falls flat over the side of his head like a fallen mohawk, water running in rivulets down his nose and cheeks and dripping all over. For such a revolting thing, he sure can look pretty when he wants to be.

With a few more pulls, Mako feels himself coming close, watching the tongue press hard against the slit and rolling around it. He grips the creature’s hair and pulls him back slowly, ever so careful with the teeth. The monster coos, his tongue lolled out sloppily, waiting for Mako to let him continue. There’s a tenderness in his gaze that makes Mako go a little more red in the face.

“Are ya done?” The fish asks, and the aim to please has never been more obvious.

Mako doesn’t know if he should tell him how this is supposed to go, or if he should even go that far. He feels awkward just thinking of how to word it. That slippery hand is still clasped around him, and Mako is teetering on the edge. It’s been so long, he reminds himself, it’s so good. Just let it go. Just do it.

“Do you,” he starts, and the creature is tense with readiness, with want. “Do you know how this works?”

“Nah,” he laughs and nuzzles into the hand still gripping his hair. “But whatever ya want, I’ll do it.”

Mako scoffs, but his guts twist a bit. He has to keep his composure, goddamn it. When did such stupid words start to affect him like this? He supposes it’s just one of the many reasons he keeps coming back.

He releases the thing’s hair to hold his chin up, pressing his thumb to the tip of his wet slobbery tongue and holding it in place. He takes his other hand and wraps it around his cock, pushing the fish’s away. The creature shifts excitedly, lips spread tight into a wide open mouthed smile. He waits for whatever Mako will give him.

Mako pumps himself, and it’s an old familiar feeling. It might not be as soft and slick as the creature’s hand, but he knows how to do it right and do it fast. He grips himself hard, tapping the head against that tongue. It shifts wonderfully with each stroke, and the fish is getting antsy, wiggling about and trying to move his tongue under Mako’s thumb. He keeps it pinned in place as he starts to unravel, hunching his shoulders and looming over the monster. Mako lets loose a moan, reveling in the sweet pleasure building up, and the creature is giddy with throaty laughter. Of all the things, that’s what makes him lose it.

He cums into his mouth, spurting over his tongue and to the back of his throat. The fish flinches hard in surprise, and for a moment Mako thinks he’ll snap his mouth shut and this is how he dies, but he doesn’t, just opens up impossibly wider and lets him fill it. He doesn’t know what Mako’s doing, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Mako can’t ignore the way the monster looks at him: eyes wide, questioning, but warm and mesmerizing. He tries not to meet his gaze, just jerks his hips and finishes up with a tight grip and a grunt. 

When he pulls himself away, Mako sees the cum pooling and dripping down his tongue. The mouth stays open, and orange eyes are still so unsure. Mako taps his chin to let him know he was done, and the creature rights himself, closing his mouth and swallowing happily. That ruins him even more than he already was.

“Was that alright?” the monster asks, leaning forward to rest his chin on Mako’s belly. “Kinda weird.”

Mako takes a deep breath and leans back on his elbows, letting the swash hit his whole body. The cold didn’t seem so bad anymore. “Yeah.”

The shame and embarrassment from before is all but gone, as the thing looks up at him like he’s the whole world and nothing less. It’s probably the orgasm still tampering with his blood, but he enjoys everything about that. Maybe there’s a little embarrassment left, actually. That’s pretty sappy.

Mako pushes his face away again, but the fish just cackles and looks at him between his big beefy fingers. He’ll never be able to escape those eyes, he thinks. Even when he’s away, he’ll feel them.

“Let’s go for a swim. I’ll teach ya how.”

The creature doesn’t even wait for an answer before he’s pushing off and letting the foamy waves pull him back into the sea. His crippled tail flips about, splashing water in Mako’s face to wake him out of his stupor. He doesn’t need to fight himself on this. He’s here for a reason, and it’s not just to fish.

Mako reaches up and starts to undo the buttons of his shirt.

He’s in too deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Froggyflan on Tumblr!](http://froggyflan.tumblr.com)


	4. Fish Out of Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shameless Little Mermaid fluff. Hans Christian Anderson, not Disney. Actually, a bit of both.
> 
> Don't judge me, alright. I just really like monster boys.

The hand in his pants doesn’t necessarily make him feel good. It makes him feel desperate and childish.

He blinks up to the endless whirling on the ceiling fan. His bed is warm from the late morning sun streaming in from the window. Uncomfortably warm, he thinks, but he continues to work his palm over his cock anyway. He turns on his side, and the pillow against his face soaks up his lazy groan and lethargic sigh.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It had been so simple out on his boat, fishing. It was a life he’d always wanted: quiet, easy, enjoyable. Some people spend their whole lives dreaming of it, and Mako was lucky enough to actually get there. Years of saving and slaving, building up his connections, sacrificing all his time. He bought his first boat nearly two decades ago, and worked his way from a moldy dinghy to The Hinewai, the fastest express in the bay. He’d spend days out at sea, caressed by the waves and guided by the stars. But now, when he thinks of being out on the water, all he can see is orange eyes and loose, slimy scales.

He squeezes his cock tighter at the thought, and he isn’t sure if that makes the feeling better or worse.

What an absolute disaster he’s found himself in. Everything seems so daunting suddenly. The hours drag on, and he can barely pull himself out of bed by noon. Things muddle together until he doesn’t know what day it is, what month it is. All he knows is that this is too difficult for him. He’s gotten so damn soft that he can’t even handle this. Whatever “this” is.

He runs his thumb over the head of his dick, and as much as he hates what he’s doing, there’s some other stupid half that loves it. It wants more, wants him to just shut up and give in. Admitting is too hard; he can’t. There’s a reason he wakes from his dreams with a sweating brow and a hard cock, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t shove those thoughts into a dark place to rot.

He knows there’s only one way to get off anymore. If he closes his eyes, it comes to him easily. Blond, salty hair and a shrill giggle that rings in his head at the slightest provocation. It’s a sound he can’t seem to forget. But the feel of cold, wet hands are what he remembers most vividly, what his dreams always take him to. His brain has to remind him of how it felt, sitting in the sand, letting waves lap at him like that slimy, wet tongue had; slippery fingers and gentle, coaxing sounds have him trapped. Dreams are suddenly nightmares, as much as his body tells him no, no they aren’t, they’re wonderful. Orange eyes peer up at him like he’s Poseidon himself, and he knows he’s lost again.

He cums in his fist with a loud grunt, his hips jerking up as he finishes. He pants and shudders as the bittersweet release taints his blood and makes him feel gooey inside. Pleasure turns sharp and overwhelming after a few more seconds, and he pulls his hand away to bask in the warm glow of it. Shame coats his fingers slick and white. He can’t keep doing this. He sighs again, hating that he has to finally get up and face the day. 

It’s been over a month since he went to the dock. He’s made enough money to take a break for a while, and he desperately needs it. He’s not tired or too old, despite what some of his business partners may say. He still has plenty of years left, still healthy enough to work his trade. But every time he thinks of going back to that disgusting pier with the rotted wood and foamy shore, something in him rips and tears and makes his body hot. It’s an uncomfortable sinking feeling that sits in his chest like a heartburn. He knows what that feeling is, and it stings him until he can’t stand it.

Mako can’t face him.

He’s a fucking coward; A goddamn lovesick idiot. This is something only young people do. They get butterflies in their stomachs and drown in each other until they’re dumb and blind. He’s forty eight years old, for Christ’s sake. He knows better. And yet, here he is.

At first, he’d just taken a few days to calm down. Memories of a loving face and happy words left him with an upset stomach. He passed the time with television and mindless chores. He cleaned his gear until it shined like new, and then he decided he’d do the same thing with the rest of his house. That had taken him a few more days, and cleaning had made him forget about the previous week’s mishap, but once that was done, he was back at the start. He spent the next few weeks busying himself with more home improvement, and even going so far as to build a new shed for the backyard. But after all that, the feelings still wouldn’t go away.

He’s taken to roaming aimlessly about the busy part of the beach, where the shops are crammed closely together and people crowd the boardwalk like ants. The smell of fried food permeates the air, and the ground is sticky with spills. People watching is something he’s loved to do since college, and the incessant squawking of tourists and seagulls alike helps tune out his thoughts.. Starving artists and musicians line the walkways with trinkets and open guitar cases. Children voice their amazement at street performers. Beautiful women wear big floppy hats and bigger totes, and Roadhog almost wishes he could have a lady like that on his arm, just so he wouldn’t have to feel like this. It would be simple, normal, comfortable. Life would be easy.

The days go by like this. The beach, as near as it is to the root of his problems, seems to be the closest he can get to a free mind. But the longer he’s away, the more he starts to see things. Sometimes, in the swirl of people, Mako sees blond hair tipped dark with dirt and his stomach does somersaults. It bobs above the crowds by a few good inches. Every day, it taunts him, just there to remind him of what he’s missing, and he hates it. They must be a local beachcomber, or maybe they work in one of the stalls. A tall bastard, that one. They move slowly in the distance, and Mako can’t see much more than that. They hide behind the crowd. Mako wants to see their damn face, so he’ll know he’s just hallucinating, but every time he tries, they’re blocked behind umbrellas or balloons or street posts. He hates that he’s even entertaining the idea that it could be him.

The sound is difficult to ignore. He’ll hear something, in the cacophony of humans, like a familiar tune, a croon of ethereal song. Sometimes it’s a laugh or a giggle carried by the breeze. It could belong to anyone, he reasons. As much as he hates hearing it, he knows if he were home all alone, it would echo in the silence. He hears his name called from the shadows, and he turns to look before he can catch himself. Nothing. It’s always nothing.

The ocean looks especially pretty from the busy side of the beach. Palm trees line the sidewalks, and the sand is peppered with seaweed and sticks carried in from the tide. He walks through it with bare feet, and it gives way easily, burying him with each step. It’s warm and coarse like salt. The waves aren’t big enough for surfing, but there’s plenty of swimmers enjoying the nice weather. If he turns his head to the south, he could probably see the edge of their little cove.

Their.

He balls his fists and decides to forget that thought ever crossed his mind. Ice cream seems like the best way to go about that. A tiny stall with far too many flavor options gives him his fix, and he keeps his head on Earth instead of in the clouds. It’s easier to zone out when he’s admiring the scenery.

He’s losing his goddamn mind. Keeping away is harder than he thought. Maybe that’s what draws him to the boardwalk. The smell of the sea still tickles his nose, and the sight of rolling waves is there to calm him. He can’t leave it. He’s spent more time on a boat than he has on land, at this point. The ocean raised him, taught him more than he’d ever learned in school. It’s his home. He can’t run from it.

Today seems to be the breaking point. Mako feels defeated, but a deep sigh washes out some of the ache. He’ll figure this out. No use moping any more than he already has. He needs to man the fuck up and do something: put his foot down, tell him no and mean it. No more touching, no more kissing. Push him away and it will all go back to normal. That’s what he wants.

The plan of action is coursing through his head when he spots the blond hair again. Now would be the best time to finally see this guy, if just to sate his curiosity. He moves against the flow of the crowd, and they part like the sea for his wide, intimidating body. The hair seems to bob up and down with each step the man takes, like he has a heavy limp. Mako moves his head about to see him past the thick human traffic, but it’s a little disorienting. Faces all scramble together and he isn’t quite sure where to look. Suddenly, the man is stopping, backing up, and walking away. He moves toward an alley that leads out of the boardwalk, and Mako feels that terrible curiosity pushing him forward.

“Hey!” Mako calls out. It’s not much louder than the buzz of people, and yet the man is moving faster now. But Mako know this pier better than anyone. He grew up loitering these walks, sneaking around like teenagers always tended to. He pushes out of the crowd and into the nearest alley. If he remembers right, this would have them meet in the middle. 

It's a tighter squeeze than he remembers. The concrete walls graze his shoulders, and there are some trash cans he has to sidestep. Then again, he hasn’t run these paths since he was a grubby little troublemaker. He supposes he’s still a troublemaker; he just got bigger. He'd be impressed by his memory of it weren't for the man with the blond hair stumbling around the corner.

Mako isn’t sure what he notices first. It all comes rushing over him, like he’s cannonballing into cold water. Wild blond hair. Fidgeting fingers. Orange, orange eyes.

It couldn’t be. It can’t. The man is looking up at him in a mix of fear and nervousness and adoration, and it’s too familiar. He’s only wearing a pair of dirty green shorts that are frayed to the point of ruin, and that scrawny bare chest has been in too many of his dreams for him to forget it so easily. The man’s mouth turns up into a twitchy smile, but the teeth aren’t sharp. They’re jagged and crooked, and in serious need of a good brushing, but not sharp. Where big orange fins would flex and flutter, there are only puny human ears. His neck is free of gills, and his fingers are long and rounded at the tips; No webs.

Mako is thunderstruck. The man only lets out a quiet, pathetic giggle that sounds exactly like it should. He slouches to make himself smaller, like a trapped animal.

“Ya weren’t supposed to notice me,” the man says, and that’s it, that’s his goddamn voice. “I just-”

Mako grabs him by the wrist as if he were about to run away, but he knows he won’t. If anything, it’s a natural reflex, and his body is just so starved of his touch. His skin is soft and tan, so unlike the green pallor he’s used to. There’s no slimy feeling, no ridge of scales. The creature flinches and tugs at his arm, trying to put some distance between them.

“I just wanted to see ya!”

It’s still trying to get through Mako’s head. Here he is. He’s been watching him, just as Mako has been thinking of him. Every day when Mako would try to find his resolve, it’d all get broken down by the mere sight of just a piece of him. Had he been calling out to him too, or was that just his mind playing tricks? The monster wiggles in his grasp, and his face can’t hide his distress. Mako’s silence had always made him so anxious. It makes him spill his thoughts so quickly, even if Mako just wants him to shut up. But that uneasy look in his eyes is turning fierce and frustrated the longer it goes on. Yellow teeth snarl, and it makes Mako’s insides churn.

“Ya left and didn’t come back!” Anger and desperation make his voice waver. “I waited so long!”

There’s a pang of something disgusting in his heart, and it makes his grip tighten. He imagines the creature watching from below the filthy docks like a loyal dog waiting for his owner to come home. Knowing him, he’d wait from the break of dawn to the late hours of the night, circling his boat and crying out for an answer. If Mako had pussied out and left town, would he have waited forever?

“Thought ya got sick or somethin’. Got scared, so I went looking for ya.” The creature is losing his steam quickly, and it’s devolving into obvious grief. His face is tight in a grimace, and it is a masterpiece of pain. “Turns out ya were just avoiding me.”

That isn’t fair, Mako reasons. It isn’t fair for him to be making that kind of face, to put Mako on the spot. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He just needed to step back and think without this stupid cretin weaseling his way into his head. Even when he was away from the shore, Mako couldn’t escape. Mako is the one who should be upset.

“How,” he starts, because that’s what he wants to know more than anything, but words continue to fail him. How are you here? Can you just grow legs whenever you want now? Why am I just seeing this now? How many more secrets do you have? Mako can’t quell the ache starting to bloom in his temples. The monster brings his free hand up to his collarbone, and it’s then that Mako notices the crusty abalone shell tied up in knotted flax around his neck.

“A treasure,” he mumbles. His fingers tap at the tiny holes around the ridge of the shell. “Hurts to use it. Like walking on knives.”

Goddamn it. As if Mako wasn’t feeling guilty enough. The limp suddenly makes sense. He seems to be favoring his left leg, and as he looks down at the right, he sees a long angry scar trailing from his ankle to his shin. It matches the torn up notch in his fin, and it seems odd for wounds to carry over to different bodies, but it’s not like he’s an expert in mermaid magic.

The creature looks lost, tight lipped and unsure. So does Mako. He didn’t think taking a few weeks off would be so difficult. Now it seems it’s been killing them both, and it’s sickening to admit he’s infatuated with anything, let alone a scruffy little fish. Of all the things, it had to be him.

“Why are you doing it if it hurts?” he asks, and the creature is snapping at him like a shark with none of the teeth.

“Ya bloody know why!”

Of course he does. Maybe he just wanted to hear him say it. The monster is fidgeting and looks about ready to cry, and yet Mako is feeling that terrible warmth pouring into his gut and he crumbles. He’s missed him. He hates it, but he’s missed him so damn much.

He lets go of the monster’s arm to reach down and grab his skinny waist with both hands, pulling him up and draping him over his shoulder like a burlap sack. If it hurts to walk, Mako can give him a free ride. It’s not even any trouble; Mako’s lifted bull sharks heavier than this whelp. The creature punches and hisses, and some of the insults are blurring into a language Mako’s never heard. Mako interrupts him with a shrug and rests his palm against his lower back for support, and suddenly the fish is quiet and still. The skin under his hand shivers, and he just hopes the monster doesn’t actually start crying. He can’t handle that.

“You’re fine,” Mako says after a moment, and he rubs his thumb over the small of his back in a comforting gesture. He’s dusted with a thin layer of salt and sand: a pretty reminder of where he belongs. “I’ve got you.”

The creature’s fingers slowly hook into a belt loop on his jeans, and that’s that. He lets Mako carry him down the boardwalk and onto the beach. Having a person slung over his shoulder definitely draws the attention of curious beachgoers, and they turn their heads to watch them go. It makes the creature tense, but more calming touches settle him right back down. Mako rests his other hand at the back of the monster’s knees for balance, earning him a soft humming sound that vibrates through their skin. 

Their combined weight makes Mako’s feet sink in the sand quickly, and his flip flops are starting to chafe at the plastic thong between his toes. The tide rolls in up to his ankles and washes the grit away only for it to be replaced with every step. It’s a half hour walk to their cove, and it’ll be annoying walking back to get his bike, but he needs this. The sound of easy waters gently rolling over the shore is nicer now that he isn’t alone with his erratic thoughts, and the deep thudding of another heartbeat is resonating against him. The fingers have moved from his belt loop to the hem of his shirt, and then the skin underneath. They caress with light, ghosting touches that are innocent in their exploration. The fish kicks his foreign legs and curls his toes playfully. Mako takes an audible breath of salty air. He’s an idiot for thinking he could leave any part of this behind. 

“I shouldn’t have left,” Mako says, after the crow of gulls and the hiss of the sea becomes too quiet. The monster becomes stiff at the sound of his voice, but it all melts away until he’s dangling loosely again. Mako feels the fingers move to the small of his back, just like Mako’s hand is placed on his. It soothes in the same way.

“Yeah,” the fish answers. There’s still some venom in his tone. He can’t be too impressed with Mako’s sad excuse for an apology, if it could even be called that. Admitting he was wrong was already so hard.

“You could have told me you could do this,” Mako murmurs, and it’s as soft as he can go. “Kinda changes things.”

“Thought ya wouldn’t like me like this. Ya like fish, not people.”

Mako laughs out loud, and it startles the creature. “That’s the damn truth.”

The walk is better now, with the tension all but gone and the late afternoon sun turning to evening. When the monster starts to slip, Mako heaves him back into place. It earns him a grunt and a more forceful tug to the hem of his shirt. The skin under his palm is smooth and inviting, despite the dirt and lingering seaweed smell. He squeezes at the taut skin of his hips, barely covered by shorts that are a little too big for his frame. He feels the pelvic bone digging into the meat of his shoulder, and that’s where the scales should start, not legs. Mako can’t decide if taking out the fishy parts would make what they have more or less exciting. All he knows is that he’s really shitty at figuring out what he wants.

The creature is growing more languid the longer Mako holds him, like he’s trying to press even further against him, more than gravity is already doing. He pulls up Mako’s shirt as far as it will go, kissing any bare skin he can reach. The touch is so warm, like a real person, but it leaves the same lingering tingle as it always does. Even when he’s a human, he’s got Mako wrapped around his grimy finger. Mako feels the purr against his back, the wild, stringy hair tickling as the monster nudges against him, and yeah, he’s wrapped really, really tight.

“Besides, ya like me the way I am.”

That pulls another chuckle from Mako, deep and wonderful.

He’s not wrong.


End file.
